


A Glimpse of How Green It Was

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Celebrations, F/F, Kissing, Pre-Canon, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fang became a l'Cie first and hid her focus to protect Vanille, but Vanille won't let Fang go it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimpse of How Green It Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseargent/gifts).



Nothing ever quite shines like Oerba the night after a new l'Cie is branded. Every light is on, not even counting the lanterns strung across the streetlights, or the glimpses of the bonfire in the square. The stars have gone into hiding, and even that bothersome egg in the sky pales in comparison to the golden lights on the ground. It's a night to make merry, to celebrate yet another of Oerba's temporary reprieves from certain demise.  
Fang is greatly honored, really, to have made this all possible.

"Have you seen Vanille?"

"Not since the ceremony. Cider?"

"Perhaps later."

The whole village has prepared this night for weeks. The decoration committee has gone overboard planning for tonight’s party, and the colorful blue and silver banners that line the streets. The Yun clan has spread out with puffed chests at the pride of having one of theirs as the next chosen l'Cie. The culinary committee has managed to scrounge up every variety of finger food imaginable—closely guarded recipes from the Yuns, the Dias, the Bheds, the Mogs, and the other smaller clans that make up Oerba’s highly-mixed population. The music committee has dusted off their instruments…and…at least they're very….enthusiastic in their praises of Anima's former champions, the ones Fang will never join if she can help it. Their pitch, on the other hand, wavers more violently than a bonfire's flames.

"Have you seen Vanille?"

"How's it now, being a l'Cie? Bet it's a rush, getting to use that magic."

They'll sing her praises anyway. Success or failure doesn't matter, and she'll be far away and long gone when the brand finally catches up to her and she goes Cie'th. All she needs to do is keep quiet and make it through this night. Perhaps a bit later, she'll take a dumpling and cider and toast her Focus, or at least the one she's claiming to have. Where is Vanille?

"Excuse me…have you seen Vani—"

Her fellow Yun member spins his head around and points towards the crowd gathering around the bonfire. The dancers are decked out in the fal'Cie's silver robes. 

Chains of wildflowers encircle their heads. The petals have already started to shed, if the white, orange, and violet specks trailing haphazardly in the street are any indication. She remembers watching Vanille's nimble fingers weave one, but none of the crowns she sees now sit atop two red tails.

"The dance of the l'Cie will start soon. Better get your spot or else you'll be stuck watching from behind the street sweepers." He points to the monstrosities lumbering about the street. 

Great. Even the robots are getting in on this action. Is there anything in Oerba not consumed by this forsaken festival?

A few weeks from now, while she's crossing the steppes, she'll likely miss Oerba, the smells of sweet potatoes roasting and lamb sausages sizzling. She'll wish for the reassuring pats and congratulations that pass by her right now, as she weaves in and out of Oerba's biggest celebration. But she'll miss the sheep herder most of all, and it would be great if she could actually say that to the person who needs to hear it.

"Have you seen Vanille?"

"I should be asking you. She promised me she'd set up the games. If you see her, tell her she'd better have a good excuse, or I'm assigning her to the dunking booth when she gets back. Want to play topple the bottles? 10 gil for three tries. Well—of course the l'Cie would get to play for free. It's your party, after all."

Fang shoos a convenient youth towards the disgruntled Mog clansmember. "Give him a freebie. He's been waiting his turn."

The first strains of the Waltz of Anima in Andante start to play, and Fang knows she needs to speed up her pace or else someone is going to want more of her than just a brush through the crowd. She closes her eyes as she winds her way down the plaza. How many speeches do the l'Cie usually give during these ordeals? At least three, though usually there's a group of them hunting together: the lead l'Cie and the ones requested after the focus is known. At least that cuts down on the number of pointless formalities. After she finds Vanille, Fang will come up with something cheeky to reassure them. What was it she claimed she needed to kill? A notorious iguana? A remarkable lupine? Oh right, it was an up-and-coming dragon. She'll make up a speech that's pithy and brash—exactly the thing a hunter from a young age would come up with—and leave it at that. Perhaps give them a touch of sentimentality, but not too much. Be sure to drop hints that the location is very far away and hard to get to.

"Have you seen Vanille?"

"Nope, sorry. If I see her, I'll tell her you've been looking."

"Thank you." It's better than what she's gotten so far, at least.

"Hey, the festival is this way." The helpful Dia clan's member points up the stairs Fang has just finished descending.

"I think I left something back at the vestige."

"Better take a torch. Light ends at the village edge."

Fang climbs the stairs into the nearest house and takes the portable light off the table. Good old Oerba, always making sure someone can be ready for a quick expedition outside the village gates at a moment's notice. She passes the depot—shut down for the evening while the whole of Oerba takes a holiday—and the schoolhouse where the young children have their own l'Cie party. Fang smirks, rather than smiles, at the strips of blue construction paper wishing her luck. The decorations peter out towards the town edge. A few people linger here off the edge of the parties, loners and those who have better things to do than watch a few dances. She and Vanille would have retreated here eventually, looking for the time and space to continue their furtive explorations of each other's bodies. Really, when Fang pauses to think, that's all Vanille really should mean—a friend to get stark bare with—but this is one hell of a burden to mess up for just one person's sake. Inconvenient is what it is.

The lights of Oerba fall away into darkness. Vanille better be close by; it wouldn't be very sporting of her to be eaten by an adamantoise, after all Fang's willing to go through.

\--

The deep brass bells still clang in Vanille's ears. It's been hours already; doesn't it stop? The vestige is behind her, damage done for the moment, another year or two before the next l'Cie is called and who knows how long before someone as hapless as her wanders in. The whole village is celebrating Fang's tribute to their patron fal'Cie, and Vanille waits out here in the fields of flax and alyssum between the village and the vestige because there's no going back, not to either place, and not to yesterday. The lights of Oerba shine before her. And oh, she was supposed to help Kupirara set up the carnival games and dance a jig later on with Fang watching and then, when things settled down a bit, perhaps say her own version of goodbye in private before Fang went off to bigger and better things.

She settles back on the damp earth and faces towards where Oerba's celebratory lights cast an orange glow in the night sky. If she tilts her neck back further, she'll be able to see the opposite view: Anima's vestige shrouded in darkness and the dreaded Cocoon rising overhead. 

Fang might wear a brave face. At least, she did earlier in the day when she exited Anima's vestige with a swagger and adamantly refused reinforcements, even as she claimed to be fighting a dragonling—a young dragon, yes, but not something any sensible person would fight without back up. And perhaps it was just recent nightmares and their recent closeness tinting Vanille's vision , but she thought she saw the pale beneath Fang's copper skin. Fang, who was never scared of anything, shook as she faced the village. And then, Fang lied.

Bells again. Vanille clutches her hands to her ears to shut them out to no avail. They echo louder, the rich clamor of the bells. Her body is right here, among the cloying wild flowers, but her mind is still inside the vestige, sorting out the deluge of dark images placed inside her mind. Anima's grip tightens around her. 

Oerba's council might forbid those not trained and selected to become l'Cie from entering the vestige, but Anima herself welcomed Vanille with open arms. Her doors opened without hesitation. Her cables wrapped around Vanille's body with the smooth whirr of a warm machine. Her brand burns as it sinks in, becoming one with her skin.

Vanille keeps her breathing slow. Never meant to become l'Cie, she never picked up the same lore as Fang, but even the school children know that l'Cie become monsters if they don't complete their focus in time, and how strong emotion shortens that already too brief span. When the party ends and the village quiets, Vanille will sneak her way into one of the empty houses and check the out the indelible damage on her hip, and then she'll decide what to do next.

How will she tell Fang?

The chimes call three syllables: Rag-na-rok. Fang lied. There's no way to succeed at this focus alone, at least not on the path Anima has shown them. They'll have to travel together just the two of them—stop that, heart—to become strong enough to join and transform. And then… 

Cocoon is the enemy, simple as that, regardless of whether anyone's weapon of choice is a spear or a sheep-snare. Her fingers clutch at blades of grass, and her nails sink into the soil. No room exists in a l'Cie's heart for anything like doubt. Yet, look at her.

The clamor rises. Doesn’t anyone else hear this? Vanille’s head swims with the noise. She dreads having to tell Fang, but maybe…

She rolls into a crouch and attempts to stand up on ground that should be shaking with the resonance of the bells.

"Vanille!"

The voice cuts through the deafening sound. Fang stands before her, haloed by the warm glow of Oerba’s lights. The royal blue of her sari shines—a touch of day in this dark night. The bells retreat slightly, giving Vanille room to think and talk. The moment feared since she entered Anima’s sanctum and gave herself over to inevitability has arrived, and Vanille faces it now with resignation. She knows nowhere else to go but forward.

“It’s done.” Her voice still echoes distantly, with Anima’s chimes and whirrs to contend with. 

Fang joins her in the enveloping shadows with only her torch to light the way through the inky darkness. “What are you talking about?” She barely pauses. “Never mind. I’ve been looking for you all night. Where have you been?”

Maybe she’s not ready yet. “Around. Say, aren’t you missing the party? It’s not every day we have a festival like this.” Vanille claps her hands behind her back and walks village-ward—past Fang—as though nothing has happened. The fingers grasping around Vanille’s wrist block that course. Fang pulls her near.

The torch falls to the ground and cuts a beam of light across the flowers. “Forget the party. Forget Oerba. I think I might miss you most of all.” Nimble fingers stroke Vanille's hair when they're not running their way over the suede and skin of her back. The urge to simply melt into Fang's body and stay there all night almost overwhelms her. Fang is always so steady and simple, even in the face of the impossible. She wants—no, needs—to grasp that feeling for herself. Fang's lips come down on hers, their tingle stronger even than even the one from her nascent brand.

Vanille has to end this before the impossibilities become too sweet.

“Fang…” Vanille raises her elbow and brushes a sweaty lock of dark hair away from Fang’s forehead with the side of her hand.

Fang presses a finger against Vanille’s lips. “Quiet, you. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left.” Suddenly, Vanille’s cheek rests in the crook between neck and chest. Fang’s arm around her waist presses her forward into the warmth. If only Vanille could forget what awaits them. 

She can’t. Not even when she wants everything Fang asks of her and more. Almost unconsciously, Vanille wraps her arm around Fang’s waist and slides her nail under the belt’s buckle. Her other hand strokes Fang’s cheek. “Why did you have to lie about your focus?”

“How could you—what are you talking about?” Fang’s arms drop to her side, the warm shoulder under Vanille’s cheek withdraws.

No matter how much she wishes she could believe in Fang’s omitted lie, Vanille can’t back down. The bells now quietly ringing in her head push her forward. “I know you’re lying about your focus. There’s no dragon you’d ever be afraid of, and not even you would face one alone. Your focus scares you, doesn’t it? You’d rather go Cie’th than complete it.”

“It’s for your own good.” Fang crouches down to pick up the torch. The light points steadily at the ground, illuminating the dozen or so tiny flowers it’s crushed.

Her laughter is rich but strained. “If I complete my focus, who knows what’s going to come to Oerba looking for revenge. If the fal’Cie want this mission completed so badly, they can find someone else to do their dirty work—someone far away from you.” The light moves upward, over Vanille’s boots, her bare knees, her covered thighs, the thick fur and all-too-thin skirt that conceal her brand. She steps out of its way.

Vanille spins on her heel as much as the damp mud will allow. The pool of light Fang bathes her in is large enough for her to cast a shadow. Other than that, there’s only darkness ahead of her. She takes a deep breath. She has to confess. Has to. She turns back around to Fang’s warm glare.

“I have something I need to show you.” Vanille points to her left leg. 

The pool of light follows the finger. Remember to breathe. Vanille turns her fur overskirt aside. Her fingers curl beneath the fragile hem of her skirt even as they shake. Their journey upward takes an eternity. That bit or so of exposed thigh, no more than the length of a hand, feels so much more revealing than any other time she’s spent completely naked before Fang. The dark arrows and the closed eye they shoot from could be covered by a closed fist, but not now.

The light drops. One long moment of silence passes before the eruption.

"Vanille!" Fang rushes forward. "What on Gran Pulse did you do? Oh, I know. The mark gives it away. Is that how you figured everything out? But why would you even enter the vestige in the first place? That's no place for you." Her arms go around Vanille and pull her forward. Despite the words, her embrace is not harsh, merely tight.

Vanille leans back against Fang's breasts, her sari a wrinkle against her head. "I knew something was wrong when you emerged from the vestige. Whatever it was, I wasn't going to let you face it alone."

"Stupid…stupid…" Fang whispers against her hair. One arm presses Vanille in further, subsuming her, while the other follows the trail of beaded leather down Vanille's stomach and to her skirt. "I'm supposed to protect you from all this." Her lips touch the part between Vanille's twin ponytails.

Vanille turns around and kisses Fang straight on the lips. "Not alone you aren't," she says, just barely above the fading bells in her head. "We can at least become Cie'th together. Protect Oerba together. It won't be so bad."

A yank of Vanille's left ponytail tilts her chin upward for another kiss. "No, no becoming Cie'th," Fang's breath warms her face. "Whatever it takes, we'll complete our focus." Fang's lips descend again.

"But, Oerba?" Vanille pulls her lips away, even as her hands work to loosen the pleats of Fang's sari from her belt. The lights from the village still glow from behind Fang, but the night quickly swallows them whole. They're nothing but a thin blur on the horizon. "I don't want to leave everybody behind."

Fang bites her lips before nudging Vanille further into the pitch. "We'll find a way to keep Oerba safe from anything that egg can hatch up in revenge. Somehow."

As the bells still tolls, Vanille wants very much to believe her.


End file.
